FicWad

DISCLAIMER: I don't own FOB. Gadur.
Author's Note: I had a lot of fun writing this fic for my friend. It's written from Patrick's perspective. In chapter one, I've always thought of Patrick having a slight inferiority complex, particularly about his appearance. I can also see Joe and Andy totally not helping at all.

Chapter One.
I stared into the mirror. Oh, good lord, look at me. The paunch. The 5’4” frame.
The red monkey sideburns
I would not fuck me.
I couldn’t imagine who would.
Okay, Patrick, I told myself. It’s not as bad as you think. Just… Here, just suck that in. That’s right. Make that stomach concave. That’s all the rage now. Show off those ribs. See? You’re just big-boned, that’s all. Nothing a corset can’t fix.
Right. Now, I’m sure there’s gotta be muscle on these arms of yours. Let me a see a flex. Thaaat’s the ticket. Check out those guns. Yeah. Nice, very nice. Damn, you’re turning yourself on here, you sexy beast.
Next, the hair. All right, ruffle that shit. I wanna see those follicles fly. Hedgehog hair, dammit! Take your cue from Sonic, anime characters, the Statue of Liberty! I want BIG. Yeah, that’s nice, that’s real nice.
KEEP FLEXING, FUCKER, WE’RE NOT DONE YET.
The clothes. It’s time for leather pants. Leather is IN. Leather is HOT. Leather is… Way too tight.
Right, now you can’t get the pants off.
You haven’t even buttoned them?! What did you do, smear on a fine layer of super glue before you stuck you’re leg in? What the hell?
Goddammit, you ugly fatass.
Wow, my inner voice is a douche.
It’s pretty tough to get off a pair of too-tight leather pants while still attempting to keep your hair perfectly feathered, you’re arms flexed, and your stomach sucked in. It also apparently looks hilarious, because a sudden contraction of my pupils told me that there was some asshole at my door taking pictures.
I looked up, horrified, to see Joe, clicking the button for photo after photo after photo and laughing his head off. “Now turn around!” he yelled. “I want a picture of your fat ass in those pants!”
I ran (well, it was more of a quick waddle – those were some constricting pants) to the door and slammed it. I could shut out Joe, but not his howls.
I swear to you, it took me a full two hours to get those pants off. I had bought them years ago in my “you’re fooling yourself” stage, and I had never before been delusional enough to put them on. That proved wise. I soaked them in hot water, thinking that the material would expand, much like metal. (It shrank, by the way.) I tried to rub lotion on my legs like Ross on Friends, but my hand couldn’t even fit into one of the pockets, much less the pant leg, and I ended up with lotion running down my ass crack and pelvis. I finally cut the damn things off with a razor and tossed them away, shaking my head at my stupidity and trying to comfort my pained, sobbing ‘nads.
I took the mirror off my door and set it down on my bed, where its harsh gaze couldn’t reach me. I didn’t want to watch myself slink back into my big pants, baggy shirt, and hat. I hated being reminded of the fact that I was up there with the platypus on God’s List of Nature’s Jokes.
I left my room, exhausted from the struggle with the pants, and went to face the mockery that surely awaited me in the living room.
It was there, of course, in the form of Joe and Andy sobbing with laughter over the digital camera.
“W-W-Wait!” Joe shouted, gasping. “This one – This one’s great…”
He clicked the button, and Andy fell off the couch, holding his sides.
Joe stared at the camera, slapping his knee. When he saw me, he pointed and screamed, now in hysterics. Andy pointed as well, tears rolling down his face. I attempted to keep a stoic, dignified face, but my cheeks were burning and I could practically feel the dumbass dripping off of me.
Once the two were worn out from their laughter, Andy pointed at the camera. “Where are these?” Andy asked commandingly, grinning.
“Where are what?” I asked, trying to sound proud. I ended up sounding like an eight-year-old girl trying not to cry.
“The Great Pants of Indignity,” Joe answered. Andy cracked up again. “But seriously,” Joe continued, sounding anything but serious, “where did you get these things? The National Gay Leprechaun Convention?”
“Stop it!” Andy shrieked, sobbing. “Stop it! I’m gonna break something!”
“Yeah, you will, if you won’t shut the hell up!” I shouted. Andy just laughed harder. Man, I wish I could have someone take me seriously, at least on occasion.
I heard the front door open and close. “Hey, guys!” It was Pete’s voice coming from the front hall. “I got two mediums instead of a large. I had a coupon, I hope you don’t mind.”
I thought I was going to pass out. “Give me that!” I hissed, snatching the camera away and stuffing it hurriedly in my pocket. Pete walked in, holding two pizza boxes and looking really, really confused as to why Joe and Andy were hugging and giggling into each other’s shoulders.
I cleared my throat, trying to look cool in front of Pete. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Just put them in the kitchen, we’ll just be a sec.”
Pete raised an eyebrow, but said, “Oookay, whatever,” and walked out.
“Idiots!” I snarled in an enraged stage whisper. “Fucking idiots! If you even think about showing Pete that picture, I will suffocate you both with your own intestines, understood?”
Joe and Andy quieted themselves and gave me two thumbs-up each.
I rolled my eyes. “God, you two are retarded.”
Pete stared as we walked into the kitchen. “So, what happened, you guys?”
“We were watching Animal House,” I said promptly, heading it off at the pass. “So, we have pizza?”
“Yup, we have two of them.” Pete pulled some root beers out of the fridge and tossed them around. I missed mine and had to run to the back of the kitchen to get it.
“Okay,” Joe said, pointing at the pizzas. “So we have Patrick’s food, but what are we gonna eat?”
Andy roared. I felt my face flush deep scarlet.
Pete lightly smacked Joe on the shoulder. “Hey, be nice.” He looked at me, his light brown eyes genuine. “Don’t feel bad, you’re not fat or anything.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled. Somehow, that made me feel even fatter. The second I grabbed a piece of pizza, Joe giggled.
Andy poked me in the stomach. “Say ‘hoo-hoo’!”
Pete smacked his hand away. “Andy!”
I just blushed. “It’s no big deal, Pete. And don’t touch me, you dick!” I shouted at Joe, who had his hands hovering beside my waist, ready to grip onto my pudgy flesh. “My love handles are my business!”
“Honey.” Joe snapped his fingers like a black salon owner. “You don’t have love handles. You have love shelves.”
“Oh, mm-hmm, girl!” Andy shouted, and the two of them doubled up with laughter again.
Pete and I exchanged exasperated looks.
But not nearly as exasperated as Joe, Andy, and I all were when Pete’s cell phone went off.
“Is it Princess Ashlee?” Joe asked.
Pete shot him a hard look, but murmured, “Yeah, it’s my wife.” He flipped the phone open. “Hey, honey!” he said, almost simpering. He plastered a big, fake smile on his face, as if she could somehow see him through the phone. “How’s the baby?”
Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, you are reading this story correctly! I am a man in love with another man, who happens to be married with a baby! You are completely correct in thinking that I am a fucking asshole.
As Pete spoke, Joe was doing a sneering imitation of him, widening his eyes and smiling stupidly. As much as I loved Pete, I really fucking hated Ashlee, and I joined Andy in laughing. He didn’t stop until Pete gave him a severe glare. When Pete hung up, he looked at all of us in turn. “Shut up, you guys! What’s the big deal? She called so I’d pick up milk on the way home!”
“You are a fucking whipped bitch,” Andy replied, stuffing some pizza in his mouth. “Seriously, she can’t get off her ass and do something herself once in a century?”
“She’s busy with the baby,” Pete snapped. He looked at all of us again and rested on me. “I just can’t get why you guys don’t like her.”
“Uh, let’s see,” Joe said sarcastically, ticking off the reasons on his fingers. “One. She’s a fake bitch. Two. She hates all of us. Three. She’s a fake bitch. Four. She’s none too bright. Five. She’s a fake bitch. Six. She uses her father and sister to manipulate everyone. Oh, and seven. She’s a fake bitch.”
“Where are you getting all this ‘fake’ stuff from?” Pete asked defensively.
“Well, no offense,” I chimed in, “but how ‘real’ can you be if you’re lip-synching on SNL?”
“And you give, like, fifty different reasons for why?” Andy added.
Pete sighed and grabbed a slice of pizza. “Listen, I get that you don’t like her, but I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you talk about my wife like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me – ” he snatched up his keys – “I’m going to go get some milk.”
And with that, he was gone.
I shook my head, feeling kind of shitty for upsetting him. Joe saw my expression and said, “Hey, man. You can’t lie to him about how you feel about his wife.”
“Yeah,” Andy chimed in. “We gotta stand up for ourselves. Otherwise, can you imagine how often she’d be around?”
I nodded. “It would be like it used to be.”
We all shuddered.
There had been a time early in Pete and Ashlee’s relationship that we honestly believed she might not be so bad, and that the media was just manipulating everyone’s view of her. We soon realized that they couldn’t have been harsh enough.
There were so many reasons to hate her. She only liked Pete for his fame, looks, and money; it was clear that she’d never even thought about the sweet personality lying under all of that. She was so high-maintenance that Pete ended up treating her like a prize diamond in a museum. If we hadn’t finally expressed our distaste for her (and, to be fair, she’d expressed her distaste for us far more rudely), she would still have been around all the time, looking down on all of us and bullying Pete into being her servant. Which she still did, but none of the rest of us wanted to see it.
“Wow,” Joe muttered, slamming an empty pizza box into the trash. “If I wasn’t such a nice fuckin’ guy, I’d beat her goddamn ass.”
“I think that’s unanimous.” I took a slice of pizza out of the other box. Pete’s sudden Ashlee-related absences always made me shove more food down my gullet. “God, she’s such a whore.”
“You know, man,” Andy told me, taking a sip of Coke (from my fridge, and without asking), “when you first met her and told me about her, I thought you were exaggerating.”
“Same here,” Joe piped up, his head now stuck in my cupboards. “I thought you just didn’t like her because she was dating Pete.”
“And her dad!” That was all Andy needed to say to earn a loud groan of disgust from Joe and me. Ashlee’s dad, one of the more disgusting dadagers I’ve met. If you want to know why his daughters are sluts, all you have to do is take a gander at his parenting. Buying them skanky underwear, booking them skanky jobs… If I had a dollar for every time that guy made me want to slap him, I’d have enough money to buy Andy and Joe their own houses and food.
“Remember how he was all pissed when he found out Pete’s bi?” Joe asked, looking around.
“Only too well.” I grabbed another root beer from the fridge. “He didn’t want Ashlee dating him. I kinda wish that he’d demanded they break up, come to think of it.”
“Do you think Ashlee would be as annoying if she was a guy?” Andy questioned, playing with his lip piercing.
“I don’t think so,” I said. The other two seemed surprised until I added, “We could punch her then.”
“Too true.” Andy checked his watch. It never ceased to amuse me that he wore a shirt maybe 10% of the time, but he never left without his watch. “Alright, I gotta go. See ya.” And without so much as a “Thanks for the food, Pat” he rushed outside.
Joe hefted himself up on the counter, watching me intently. “What?” I finally snapped. “You’re starting to look like Hannibal Lector.”
“Don’t get all freaked, Clarice,” Joe replied sarcastically. “It’s just… Well, you must hate Ashlee the most, right?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. So what?”
Joe shrugged. “I guess I just feel bad talking about her at all. Since it just reminds you of her and Pete.”
You know, with all their mooching, Joe and Andy are still the best friends a guy could have. I just gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry. I love bitching about her as much as you do. It gives me an outlet.”
Joe smiled. “Yeah.” He hopped down off the counter and planted a hand on my shoulder. “You keep stuff inside too much, man. Don’t be afraid to talk about things with us.”
“Joe.” I set my pizza down. “You don’t have to worry about that, okay? I know you’re there for me.”
Joe nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just reminding you.” And with a knuckle dap, he was gone.
I lay down on the couch, my body still aching from those stupid pants. How I’d let myself get so deep into anything was beyond me.
How could I let myself keep loving him?

Author's Note: Review and rate, please!